I think people generally remember the first time their parents cry, together and individually.
But you see, I was never so lucky to understand emotion is supposed to be shared and not hidden in fear or exposed in anger. I was never so lucky.
Instead, tears were cried against an oppressive hand, a hand which whipped itself in anger and intolerance. I guess that’s fathers for you, unpredictable anger. And that’s a mother for you, tears that cling onto a heavy heart and only spill out when they think no one’s looking.
I guess those are my parents for you. In a nutshell. But they no longer are, either, but rather were.
Everyone’s right about that much, you know? Things do get better.
Happy birthday mum.